Free Polly's Pride by Freda Lightfoot

had to be thankful for.

    Eileen was back in number twenty-three the next day, asking if Polly had meant what she’d said about helping her sew some dresses for her girls.
    ‘You’re right. Meryl and Beryl wouldn’t be able to manage taking part in the procession, but our Agnes is nearly six, and Rosie too would love to dress up and walk. Trouble is, I can’t afford to buy them anything.’
    ‘I’ll see if I have something we could cut down.’
    A thorough search produced a length of unbleached cotton and some scraps of satin left over from Lucy’s dress. They bleached the cotton, drying it in the sun to make it all fresh and white. Then, after damping down and ironing it with a hot iron, they cut out two tiny dresses for the little girls, trimming the edges with the satin and making a matching sash of the same fabric for each dress. They looked like doll’s dresses, turning out much better than either woman had expected.
    Eileen was so thrilled you’d have thought she’d been given a fortune. Tears ran down her cheeks as she told Polly that never had she had such a friend before, in all her life. ‘Nobody’s ever given me owt, except a clout round the lughole and these blessed childer. Eeh, and won’t they look a treat? I’m that pleased, Polly, I don’t know how to thank you.’
    ‘There’s no need. It’s God we’re thanking at the Whit Walks, for His goodness in giving us such fine healthy children.’ And the two women beamed with their shared joy and pride.

    When Whit Week arrived, Polly had the pleasure of seeing Lucy preen herself in the new white frock, walking tall and gracious as a princess as she held the ribbons of the Sunday School banner.
    ‘A real beauty she is,’ Polly said, heart swelling with love and pride for her daughter.
    ‘Just like her mother,’ Matthew agreed. They smiled warmly at each other, united as always in their shared love for their family.
    Benny was less happy since he’d been prevailed upon to wear a white shirt instead of his usual grey, which he thought girlish, and a blue and grey striped tie to match the hated cap. The only good thing about his outfit were the new boots and the belt he’d been allowed to wear in place of his braces. He hadn’t wanted to walk in the procession at all and had repeatedly asked to be excused, but to no avail. He didn’t fail to notice that Georgie Eastwood wasn’t walking.
    ‘I don’t care if I’m still paying for that dress till Kingdom come, it was worth every penny,’ Polly insisted.
    A shadow crossed Matthew’s face, but he kept it turned well away from her. ‘Aye,’ was all he said.
    It was also worth her efforts to see the two eldest Grimshaw girls decked out in their little frocks, faces shining clean for once. ‘Like little fairies they are,’ Polly said. ‘Did Terence object?’  
    Eileen shook her head, eyes twinkling, proud as punch as she stood on the kerb watching her children walk by, the twins draped about her neck as usual. ‘Not a word. Mind you, I told him that my mam had made the frocks, and he daren’t argue with her.’
    It was indeed a glorious family week. The Protestants walked on Whit Monday, the Catholics on the Friday, and a string of other churches in between, including Zion Primitive Methodist to which Matthew’s family belonged. Matthew himself did not walk but Joshua, straight-backed and solemn-faced, was one of the bearers carrying the banner.
    Big Flo led the group of matriarchs who met regularly on a Thursday evening at the chapel, not simply to gossip and read the Scriptures together, but to discuss their personal responsibility for the provision of tea and buns at special chapel functions such as New Year’s Day and the Sunday School Anniversary, a task which necessitated considerable organisation. The feast, if that was the right term for the one potted meat sandwich and single bun after the procession, was likewise their responsibility.
    The streets were crowded as far as